


where the rice lilies bloom

by aceklaviergavin



Series: Akekita Week 2020 [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Terminal Illnesses, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceklaviergavin/pseuds/aceklaviergavin
Summary: After the Metaverse crumbles, Akechi Goro finds himself alive in a world he never wanted to be a part of. He learns to move on, he falls in love, he finds a semblance of happiness within the mundane.For a brief moment, he forgets that he's cursed.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kitagawa Yusuke
Series: Akekita Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994365
Comments: 17
Kudos: 33
Collections: Akekita Week





	where the rice lilies bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Akekita Week Day 3: **Pain** // Healing
> 
> uh yeah grab the tissues for this one
> 
> detailed triggers in the end notes

A tinny bell chimes as Akira enters the dimly lit bar in the backstreets of Osaka. Clouds of thick ash and stale beer hit him with the force of a tidal wave. It reminds him of standing in the alley outside Leblanc while Sojiro smokes, but lacks any of the charm. Akira stares into darkness as his eyes take a moment to adjust. The sun shines bright on the other side of the door, but none of that daylight finds its way inside. The bar comes into focus through a blue haze, neon lights painting the decor in shades of velvet.

It calls to the rebel, still slumbering in Akira’s soul. An insurmountable distance separates him from the boy he once was. The only shadows here are the ones Akira casts. But even still, Akira can’t shake this hazy, weightless feeling. When he crossed the threshold, he stepped into the arms of a familiar dream. Maybe this place is another gift from a young girl in blue. Maybe he’s still trapped in liminal space.

An older woman with dark eyeshadow and painted lips wipes down the bar. The only patron slumps on the end, a half-empty glass at his elbow. The woman eyes Akira through thick eyelashes. She reminds him of Lala-chan, if Lala-chan were a decade younger.

“We’re not open,” she says, voice rough from years of smoking, “come back later.”

“I’m not here to drink.” Akira gestures at the man collapsed on the bar. “I think you have something of mine.”

The woman raises a thinly penciled eyebrow. “Him?” She huffs in annoyance. “Finally. He’s been sleeping in my bar for three days.”

Akira winces. “Sorry. It’s been rough.”

“I figured.” She shrugs. “At least he tips well.”

Instinct tells him that she’s more sympathetic than she’s letting on. “Thanks for looking after him.” Akira flashes her the brightest smile he can manage. “I’ll get him out of your hair.”

She waves him off. “Take your time.” She goes back to ignoring Akira and wiping last night’s grime off the bar.

Permission granted, Akira approaches the man at the end of the bar. During Akira’s exchange with the owner, they haven’t looked up once. If Akira didn’t know better, he’d suspect they were sleeping. But if he knows them, and he _does,_ they’ve heard every word.

Akira slides onto the stool beside him. “You’re a hard man to find,” he says slyly.

Finally, the other patron moves. It takes monumental effort just to lift his head from the cradle of his arms. When he does, he glares at Akira with crimson eyes dyed purple in the light.

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to be found?” Akechi growls, voice scraped raw by broken glass.

Even in the hazy lighting, designed to smooth over people’s flaws, Akechi looks like hell. Shadows pool beneath his eyes, skin weathered and cracked on his cheeks. Patchy, untrimmed fuzz clings to his upper lip and chin. His hair falls limply around his face, tangled and greasy. His ugly peacoat is made even uglier by the rip at the elbow and the beer stains smeared down the lapel.

Of course he’d stop taking care of himself without anyone to remind him. “What we want isn’t always what’s best for us,” Akira says, meeting Akechi’s eyes.

Akechi laughs bitterly, ungloved hands curling into fists. Dark, mottled bruises span the width of his knuckles, deep cracks splitting the skin. One of his fingers looks unnaturally swollen, flesh colored purple in the light.

“‘We?’ Or do you mean ‘me?’” Akechi growls.

“I mean ‘we,’” Akira says without a beat. “You’re not the only one who’s had impossible dreams.”

“That’s rich,” Akechi spits, lip curling back over sharpened fangs, “coming from someone who’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted.”

Akira stares down the barrel of Akechi’s anger long enough to see the pain it hides. “I didn’t want this. None of us did.”

A growl rumbles deep in Akechi’s throat. His swollen, bruised hand curls around his glass. He knocks it back. It’s easier to drown his rage, his sorrow, than to confront the miserable reality he’s living.

Akira watches, trying to keep the emotion from his face. Any feelings he shows will only form a weapon in Akechi’s hands. This isn’t about him, or his grief. He just needs to bring Akechi home.

Akira wets his lips and takes a shot. “You missed the funeral.”

They’d held a small service in the outer gardens of Meiji Shrine. All the former thieves (minus two) gathered beneath a blooming cherry blossom tree, a circle of folding chairs arranged by Haru. In the middle sat a small milk crate, draped in a white tablecloth. A royal blue urn rested on it, beside a framed photo of their group crowded into Leblanc.

Futaba crouched low in her chair, Morgana held tight against her chest. She wore a dark blazer borrowed from Akira, the arms bunched up around her wrists. Beside her, Ann’s kimono swallowed the light, as black as the mascara running down her cheeks. Ryuji sat on Ann’s other side, silent as he toed the ground with battered dress shoes. Haru picked at the hem of her skirt, dark satin flowing over her knees. In her lap, she held a bouquet of white lilies, sprouted from her garden’s soil.

Makoto remained the most composed, intelligent eyes scanning her gathered friends. “Has anyone been able to reach Akechi-kun?” she finally asked.

The air was already silent, but now it hangs heavy on Akira’s shoulders. “I’ve tried every way I know to contact him.” Akira sighed, frustration bleeding in. “No matter what I do, there’s no answer.”

Haru’s eyes never left the flowers in her grasp. “It doesn’t feel right to do this without him.”

Silently, Makoto slipped her hand into Haru’s. She squeezed, trying to give Haru some of her strength. Futaba stared at the urn, alone in the center. She could almost see her reflection in the porcelain.

“I tried to track him,” Futaba croaked, throat scratched raw by the remnants of salty tears, “but there’s nothing.”

Akira placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Akechi knows how to stay out of sight. We can’t force him to face us if he’s not ready.” Akira swallowed thickly.

In a way, he envied Akechi. Akira wished he could turn his eyes from grief, run away from sorrow, and find comfort in solitude. But there were people that still needed him. He couldn’t run away and leave them to pick up the pieces on their own.

“But we can’t just pause our grief until Akechi decides to confront his.” If he ever does. “We’ll be here for him when he’s ready, but until then we have to keep going.”

Ryuji stared at the scuffed toe of his boots. “It’s what Yusuke would want, yeah?”

Futaba hugged Morgana to her chest. Morgana purred, a low rumble in his belly to try and comfort her. Ann burst into a fresh wave of tears, dark rivers of eyeliner painted on her cheeks. Akira swallowed his own sorrow and did his best to hold strong.

Akira pushed himself to stand, even when all he wanted to do was crumble. All eyes turned to him as he started to speak. He reminded them of the Yusuke they knew, the boy who followed them on the train, all for a glimpse of beauty. It seemed ridiculous now, that they ever thought someone as kind as Yusuke could be a threat.

Ryuji spoke of Yusuke’s strength, how he stood against someone he loved with righteous zeal, and how he kept moving forward in the aftermath. Ann laughed wetly as she remembered the lobsters, how Yusuke tried to raise them in his bathtub. Haru told them how he was always eager to try her new recipes, no matter how strange. Quietly, Makoto reminded them of his noble heart, how he always saw beauty in the midst of ugliness, how he wanted so badly to believe in others.

It started as a trickle. Akira smiled, unshed tears needling at the back of his eyes. Something cold dropped on his hand. He ignored it, lost in the voices of his friends, reminding him of days past. Then another. And another, and another as suddenly the skies opened wide. Rain plastered Akira’s bangs to his forehead, drenching him through. He looked up. It was still just as beautiful. The sun shined bright overhead, not a cloud to be found in the blue, blue sky.

Ann’s kimono hung heavy on her shoulders. “A sunshower…” she murmured, face turned skyward.

For a moment, the group just watched the rain falling from the heavens. Water caught the sunlight, scattering it against the sky. Each raindrop shone like crystal until it shattered on the earth. Akira held out his palms, catching the rain in his hands. Then he laughed. 

“Of course.” Water fell on his tongue, salty and bittersweet. “Of course he’d bring rain to his own funeral.” Through the rain, no one could see his tears.

Akira fights those same tears back now, beneath the blue haze in Osaka. “It was beautiful.” Akechi refuses to meet his eyes. “Exactly what he would have wanted.”

Akechi growls, hand tightening around his glass. “Don’t patronize me with that bullshit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Who cares what he wanted? He’s dead. He doesn’t want anything anymore.”

Akira weathers the storm of Akechi’s rage the same way he weathered the rain at a fox’s funeral. “You care.”

“Fuck you.”

“He would have wanted you there.” Akira swallows. _“We_ wanted you there.”

Akechi’s eyes flash, gunfire in the dead of night. “Do you think your lies are comforting because they’re pretty?”

His glass strains against his grasp. If he smashed it over Akira’s head would it shatter? Would the glass slice through his palm? Would Akira bleed?

“Is it really so ridiculous?” Akira asks. “He _loved_ you. Is it so unbelievable that we’d want to look after you now that he’s gone?”

“Shut _up.”_ Akechi grasps the edge of the bar, nails scratching against polished wood. “I don’t want anything from you or your _friends.”_

“Then what _do_ you want?” Akira asks, a silver dagger gleaming in the depths of his eyes.

Akira knows damn well what Akechi wants. Akechi wants to turn back time and return to the days when Yusuke’s smile shone brighter than any star. When he sleeps at night, he wants to lay his head on Yusuke’s chest and hear the tattoo of his beating heart. He wants to look forward and see the world spread out before him, a lifetime to seize the future he desires.

When he looks forward now, he only sees emptiness.

Akechi’s lip curls back in a vicious sneer. “I want you to take that savior complex of yours and shove it up your ass.” Akira’s selflessness has always been selfish. “You couldn’t save him and you can’t save me.”

Akira never learned to take “no” for an answer.

Akira watches him, unphased by the barbs Akechi slings. Akechi’s blood boils beneath his skin, all his sorrow and rage bubbling to the surface. Akira dragged him kicking and screaming out of the river Styx. He pried Akechi’s heart open so Yusuke could crawl inside and promised that he could have this forever. Akechi dared to love them because they never gave him a choice.

But nothing ever changes. Akechi wakes up from his long dream and watches happiness crumble before his eyes. History repeats itself. Time is a circle and as the world spins, Akechi is left to pick up the pieces.

“I’m not here to save you.” Akira pulls out his phone, idly clicking through.

Akechi hurts so much. Every time he thinks he can’t possibly hurt any more, he remembers his mother, remembers Yusuke, and it’s like losing them all over again. It never gets any easier. He wants to drag Akira down with him, hurt him the way he’s forced Akechi to hurt,

“Really?” Akechi laughs, bitter and dark. “You’re here because you felt like getting a drink?”

Akira sets his phone on the bar in front of Akechi. “I’m here because Yusuke asked me to be.”

Yusuke’s face fills the screen. Immediately, Akechi scoops it up in both hands. He stares at Yusuke’s face, hale and full, so distant from the gaunt skeleton from recent memory. In an instant, he can pinpoint when this was taken. Roughly three months ago, before Yusuke grew too tired to leave their bed, when his hands were still steady enough to hold a brush.

Akechi recognizes the backdrop of Yusuke’s studio in their apartment. Yusuke sits on a chair in the center of the room. They’d had to replace his stool when it grew too tiring for Yusuke to hold himself upright. Warm sunlight streaks through the window, falling on Yusuke’s cheeks and painting him a vibrant gold. He looks ethereal, ripped straight from Akechi’s dreams. Shadows still pool beneath his eyes, cheekbones jutting severely from beneath his skin. He’s not healthy. But he’s alive.

The screen shakes so badly in Akechi’s hands that he can barely start the video. But then Yusuke bursts to life on screen, his chest expanding with every breath. Already, Akechi’s eyes sting.

Yusuke stares at something behind the camera. “Is it on?”

“Yeah,” Akira’s voice answers, distant. “I’ll step out. Just hit this button when you’re done.”

Yusuke smiles. It’s been so _long_ since Akechi saw Yusuke smile without the shadow of sorrow. Footsteps fade into the background, the studio door creaks, then Yusuke is all alone. Yusuke turns to the camera, eyes silver and vibrant. Akechi can’t believe he’d already forgotten just how _beautiful_ they were.

Yusuke glances at his lap, paper rustling in his hands. “Goro,” he says, and the familiar curl of his lips around Akechi’s name nearly breaks him, “if you’re watching this then I…”

Yusuke trails off. He runs a hand over his face and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It sounds so cliché,” Yusuke murmurs.

Goro can’t help the wet chuckle that bursts out of his mouth.

“But I suppose clichés exist for a reason.” Yusuke looks back down, and Goro realizes he’s reading from a script. “We both knew this was coming, but I don’t expect that will make this loss any easier.”

It was two years ago now that Yusuke had his first seizure. Inexplicable migraines and chronic fatigue plagued him in the preceding weeks. But no matter how Akechi pestered him to see a doctor, Yusuke always had an excuse. He was simply exhausted from an upcoming exhibition, he’d forgotten to eat, his poor posture was finally getting the better of him.

“You need to eat healthier,” Akechi grumbled, opening their fridge to see what meal he could cobble together.

“I’m well aware,” Yusuke replied curtly.

Akechi stared at the meager contents of their fridge. Some leftover takeout, prepackaged bentos, and lunchmeat lined the shelves. There wasn’t a single vegetable to be found. Neither of them could cook and with Akechi’s paycheck, neither of them bothered to learn. It was a wonder neither of them had keeled over yet.

Akechi sent a quick text to Akira asking about healthy meals that a monkey could cook. “Do you feel up to going to the conbini? We can pick up something with a vegetable in it.”

“I am rather in the mood for daaaaiiiii—” Yusuke trailed off, the word turning into a hum in the back of his throat.

Akechi raised his brow. “Yes?”

Yusuke stared at him, eyes glassy and unseeing. His mouth hung open, still parted around the words he failed to say. It reminded Akechi of his mental shutdown victims, staring blankly ahead even as death bore down on them.

“Yusuke? Are you listening?” Akechi asked, trying to tamp down his fear.

Then suddenly, Yusuke began shaking. Tremors ran along the length of his spine, arms pulling tight against his chest. He collapsed on the floor in a pile of limbs, a puppet with its strings cut. Akechi watched in horror as Yusuke seized at his feet, skull cracking against the floor.

“Yusuke!” Akechi shouted, falling to his knees.

But he didn’t have any idea what to do. Yusuke’s long limbs flailed, legs kicking out, nearly striking Akechi’s thigh. Should he pin Yusuke down? Just sit and wait? Turn him over? Akechi had spent his youth bleeding himself dry, he didn’t have a clue how to put someone back together. They weren’t in the Metaverse anymore. He couldn’t simply cast a healing spell and watch Yusuke’s wounds knit together before his eyes. Reality was vastly more complicated than that.

In the end, he did nothing, hands hovering uselessly over Yusuke’s convulsing body. He wanted to _do_ something, but fear paralyzed him to inaction. He didn’t have the slightest clue how to help. Anything he did might simply make things worse.

The attack was over as suddenly as it started. Yusuke’s limbs fell still, his whole body sinking into the floor. As soon as it was over, Akechi knelt over him, holding Yusuke’s face in his hands. Yusuke’s eyes stared through Akechi, as if he wasn’t there at all.

“Yusuke? Yusuke?” Akechi called, gently slapping Yusuke’s cheeks.

Clarity returned to Yusuke’s eyes. “Goro?” he asked groggily. “Why am… I on the floor?” he slurred.

Akechi sighed in relief, leaning down to touch his forehead to Yusuke’s. “We’re taking you to the hospital right now.”

Dazed as he was, Yusuke didn’t have the strength left to argue.

The Yusuke on screen wears those two years on his skin like a funeral pall. Illness aged him decades, worry lines etched on his brow and the corners of his eyes. Yusuke has always been thin. But his long limbs held hidden power. For the Yusuke inside the video, that strength is all but gone.

“It’s been hard for both of us,” Yusuke says, hand clenching over his heart. “You’ve tried to hide how much you’re hurting, but I know you better than that.”

Akechi breathes out a long sigh. Yusuke had always been far too perceptive for his own good. Akechi had never felt more known than when he was at Yusuke’s side. Yusuke understood him, saw through his lies, and knew what he needed before Akechi did himself.

But the last thing Akechi wanted was for Yusuke to play counselor while he was dying. He’d tried to keep those emotions hidden, to cram them down his throat and lock them inside his heart. If there was one thing Akechi was good at, it was ignoring his own feelings. But of course Yusuke would see through that mask.

“I want to thank you for braving that hurt to stay by my side.” Yusuke’s voice pitches up, throat closing against the threat of tears.

Yusuke’s breath crackles through the speakers. “I couldn’t have made it this far without your support. Even amidst this sorrow, you’ve filled my life with joy.” How strange, that the first time Akechi has brought anyone happiness would be like this. “I’ve been… _indescribably_ fortunate to spend my time on earth with you.”

Only Yusuke would die and describe himself as _lucky._

“I’ve… made peace with my death.” Yusuke looks away, staring into the sun. “It’s unfair but… we both know that life can be tragically unkind.”

If Akechi knows anything, it’s that. Sorrow follows him wherever he goes. He was cursed from the moment he was born. He was a fool to think Yusuke would be safe.

They spent months searching for answers. It was a revolving door of doctors and specialists. Yusuke sat through all manner of tests, patiently let them prick his skin, sat quietly through scan after scan. None of them had any answers.

Akira referred them to Takemi. He told them if anyone could find out what was wrong with Yusuke, it was her. And to her credit, she did her best. She listened to Yusuke’s concerns, ran every test she could think of with her limited equipment and referred them to doctors that could do what she couldn’t. Even she came up short. She kept trying, read through every medical text she could, started working on some new medicine. But research took time.

Yusuke continued to worsen. At first, they hoped the seizure was an isolated incident, a fluke of brain chemistry. But a month later, Yusuke fell down in the shower, splitting his head on the tile. They were lucky that he only required a few stitches. After that, Akechi didn’t dare leave him alone.

The seizures slowly grew more frequent. At first, it was a couple of times a month, then once a week, then nearly every day. On “good” days, Yusuke was still plagued by unbearable migraines and fatigue that kept him pinned in bed. Their nightstand overflowed with different medications. Some treatments helped, some only made him worse. None of them made him healthy.

Akechi slipped into their bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. The room was dark, the lights turned off and the curtains drawn completely shut. A white noise machine played the sound of ocean waves, drowning out the din of the city outside. Yusuke lay on the bed, wrapped tightly in the sheets.

Quietly, Akechi sat beside him, watching Yusuke over his shoulder. “Migraine?” he asked.

Yusuke nodded silently, ice pack clutched to his head. Akechi touched the ice pack with his hand. Still cold, he didn’t need to replace it for a while yet.

“Roll over,” Akechi murmured, slotting into place beside Yusuke.

Yusuke did so with herculean effort, turning his back to Akechi. Akechi placed his palms on Yusuke’s shoulders. Like always, Yusuke’s skin was freezing. He gently massaged the muscles in Yusuke’s back and neck, working his way up. When he reached the base of Yusuke’s skull, he smoothed his thumbs over Yusuke's occipital ridge. He dug in as hard as he could stand.

Yusuke nearly sobbed with relief. “Don’t stop,” he gasped.

Akechi kissed the top of Yusuke’s head, even as he drove his thumbs into the back of his skull. He’d ripped shadows to shreds with these hands, shot people through the heart without a second thought. Strange, how they could provide Yusuke some manner of comfort now.

He held for a long time, minutes ticking by. His hand started to cramp, thumbs aching at holding one position for so long. But Akechi didn’t dare budge. A little discomfort was nothing compared to what Yusuke was going through. Finally, Yusuke whined, and Akechi relaxed, hands sliding down to Yusuke’s shoulders.

Idly, Akechi worked his thumbs into the muscles of Yusuke’s back, gentler this time. “I’ll talk to Takemi. This new medicine is making your migraines worse.”

“It’s fine,” Yusuke murmured.

“It’s not. You can barely paint,” Akechi shot back, immediately going for Yusuke’s weakness.

Yusuke fell silent. Ocean waves continued to break overhead, Akechi rubbing out the tension in Yusuke’s shoulders. For a minute, he thought maybe Yusuke had fallen asleep, too tired to put up an argument.

“What if this is as good as it gets?” Yusuke asked weakly, nearly drowned out by the waves.

Akechi continued to knead Yusuke’s shoulders, staring at him through the darkness. In the months before Akechi’s mother died, she had declined much the same. While her illness was of a different nature, she and Yusuke ran in parallel. Good days became few and far between. She would spend days in bed, unable to rise long enough to eat. He watched her waste away in front of his eyes, unable to do anything at all.

No matter how he tries, he can’t seem to help Yusuke either.

“Then we’ll learn to live with it,” Akechi said slowly. “But there’s no reason to stop trying.”

“My mother had seizures before she died,” Yusuke whispered, more breath than words. “She painted the _Sayuri_ for me because she knew she was dying.”

Akechi’s hands froze on Yusuke’s back. “Who told you that?”

They didn’t have any records from his mother. Yusuke himself barely remembered anything about her. The only one who could have told him…

“Madarame.”

Akechi scoffed, “And you believed him?” Who knows what lies Madarame could have told Yusuke.

“Goro,” Yusuke scolded, “I know you can see the evidence in front of you.”

“Even if that’s the case, it’s been over two decades. Medicine has advanced since then.” Akechi fisted his hands over Yusuke’s back, nails digging into the meat of his palms.

A long silence passed. “Alright,” Yusuke said, in that way he did when he was simply too tired to argue.

The phantoms in Yusuke’s blood haunted him. Akira would promise him that everything would be alright, that they’d find a way around whatever ailed him. Akechi wanted to provide that comfort, to ease whatever suffering Yusuke faced. But he couldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

Slowly, Yusuke fell into a fitful sleep, and Akechi prayed to every god he didn’t believe in. _Please. You’ve given me so many second chances I never asked for. If anyone deserves one it’s him. Take whatever you want from me, but please, don’t take him._

If only they’d been so lucky.

Paper rustles as Yusuke turns to the next page. “This illness would have come for me regardless of the life I lived. Whether Madarame raised me or my mother, my life was always going to be a short one.” Yusuke looks back to the camera, to Akechi on the other side. “And yet I’ve been able to do _so much.”_

The sun glints off Yusuke’s eyes, turning his silver irises gold. “Most people could never imagine the things we’ve done. We explored worlds beyond their wildest imagination, we fought _gods.”_ Yusuke laughs wetly. “We changed the world together, you and I.”

Yusuke blinks, tears falling from his lashes. “Who could possibly look back at a life like that and come up wanting?”

 _Akechi._ Because Yusuke deserves so much more than the weight of the world on his shoulders. He deserves a normal life, he deserves freedom, and security, and _love._ The power to change the world isn’t a _gift._ It’s an unbearable burden that no child should ever have to bear. Yusuke deserves to be free. He deserves to _live._

“This parting is tragic, yes. But in other ways, I’ve been unimaginably lucky.” Tears flow freely down Yusuke’s cheeks now. “I’ve met people whose souls shine like stars, I’ve loved, and been loved in return. I’ve known so much happiness. You and all the others made my life worth living, short as it was. Even knowing the ending, I would live this life over in a heartbeat, just to experience it all again.” Yusuke gasps, brushing the tears from his cheeks. “I hope that one day, you can remember me without pain.”

Akechi tries. He tries so damn hard to remember Yusuke fondly. But no matter how far back he reaches, no matter how happy the memory, his anger bleeds into the past. He imagines Yusuke’s smile, and all he can think is what godforsaken world would snuff out that light before its time?

“My one regret is that I promised you everything, ignorant of just how little I had to offer.” Yusuke’s jaw trembles, more tears replacing the ones he just wiped away. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was leave you alone.”

Yusuke _gave_ Akechi everything and spent his last days on earth lamenting that he couldn’t give more. Akechi took everything Yusuke had to give and came up short. They should have had so much more. Yusuke _deserves_ so much more.

“You don’t deserve loneliness. You don’t need to do penance for what happened to me.” Akechi hates that Yusuke knows him so well, hates that he can pin down Akechi’s emotions from months in the past. “I know you think of yourself as cursed. If you’re cursed, then I am just the same.”

Akechi meets Yusuke’s eyes, through the screen, through the months that have passed since Yusuke sat down and encapsulated his love. “We’ve both led lives full of more sorrow than one person should ever have to suffer.” Yusuke’s hands twitch at his side, against his will. “No matter how I died or what words you didn’t have the chance to say, that’s not a burden you have to bear. My love for you hasn’t changed.”

Just over a week ago, Akechi padded into their apartment’s second room. It was the dead of night, but light seeped out from under the door. He pushed it open, standing in the wash of yellow light in flannel pajamas and a threadbare shirt hanging off one shoulder. Inside, Yusuke sat in his chair, a nearly finished painting on the easel. He held a brush in one shaking hand, fingers struggling to close around it. His other hand grasped his wrist in an attempt to brace himself.

Akechi sighed heavily. “You should be in bed,” he mumbled, exhaustion seeping into his words.

Yusuke looked over his shoulder at Akechi. Dark bags shadowed his eyes, his cheeks thin and gaunt. The yellow light overhead only highlighted the sickly pallor to his skin and the sweat beading on his brow. It took all of Yusuke’s strength just to stay sitting.

“I was… overcome by a… sudden burst of inspiration,” he said, turning back to his work.

He was working on a landscape, a scene pulled straight from the Japanese countryside. Resplendent golden rice fields spread out for miles, painted in Yusuke’s familiar impressionist strokes. Akechi could hear the warble of crows overhead and feel the wind in his hair. The blue sea sparkled on the horizon, stretching out beneath an amber sky. Just the bottom right corner remained empty, where Yusuke had begun to paint a figure.

“It can wait until the morning. Right now you need your rest,” Akechi scolded, as gently as he could manage.

Yusuke’s hand trembled, brush strokes almost angry. “In the morning… I’ll be too tired… or have a migraine… or my hands will hurt too much…”

“Your health is more important.” Akechi stepped forward, preparing to help Yusuke back to bed. “The painting can wait.”

“It can’t!” Yusuke slammed his brush down, missed and it clattered to the floor.

Akechi stopped, struck to stillness by Yusuke’s anger. Yusuke had been so exhausted these past few months, he never had the strength to yell. Yusuke whirled around, then wobbled in his seat with the sudden movement. Akechi braced to catch him, but Yusuke managed to steady himself.

Yusuke met Akechi’s gaze, silver eyes clouded. “We both know this is the last painting I’ll ever make.”

The bullet that ripped through Akechi’s heart had been less painful.

“I need to finish it,” Yusuke said simply.

Silence filled the studio, the only sound the rush of blood in Akechi’s ears. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his teeth grinding inside his skull. The only thing Akechi knew to do was fight against the world that crushed him down. But what good was a warrior against the illness in Yusuke’s blood?

“I’d rather have you for as long as possible,” Akechi said through clenched teeth, “than some _painting.”_

“You’re not going to have me!” Yusuke shouted, the overhead light glinting off his tears. “One day I’ll be gone and this is all you’ll have left!”

“Is that supposed to bring me comfort?” Akechi growled.

“This is my life’s work, painting is what I _love!_ I can’t just give it up!” Yusuke’s long fingers gripped the edge of his seat, knuckles turning white.

“How much is it worth when you can barely even hold a brush?” Akechi spat through sharpened fangs.

Hurt flashed in Yusuke’s eyes, Akechi’s words piercing his heart. He’d struggled with painting for months. His joints ached and his hands shook as he desperately clung to his passion at the end of his life. Akechi had been the one to ice his hands, to demand better painkillers, to support him when Yusuke’s body couldn’t keep up with his ideas. To throw that back in his face now ached more than any blade.

Akechi didn’t care. He didn’t care how much Yusuke hurt, as long as he stayed alive.

“My mother painted the _Sayuri_ for me because she knew she was dying! She wanted to give me something to hold onto!”

Yusuke needed Akechi to understand. He wasn’t painting for himself, but for the people he’d leave behind. He needed to give Akechi one final gift, his last wish for the man he loved.

“And what good did it ever do you?” Akechi screamed. “How is a fucking _painting_ supposed to make up for the future you promised me?”

Yusuke stared at him with wide, wounded eyes. His jaw shook, watching Akechi as if seeing him for the first time. He opened his mouth, struggling to find the words to say. For Akechi to lash out at Yusuke was one thing, but to attack his _art,_ the very thing he _lived_ for was completely different.

In the end, there were no words to find. Yusuke turned back to his canvas, wrapping his arms around himself. Akechi knew he’d gone too far. His anger at their circumstances clouded his mind, and he lashed out with words like sharpened barbs.

“Yusuke… I—”

 _“Leave.”_ Yusuke refused to face him.

The last thing Akechi wanted to do was leave him alone. But Yusuke’s shoulders shook, trembling with sobs he refused to voice. Akechi had already done enough. He sighed and retreated to their bedroom.

That was the last time he heard Yusuke’s voice.

Hearing it now, kind and gentle burns Akechi from the inside out. “We never have enough time. We never know when we’ll run out. We could have had all the time in the world and it would never be enough.” Yusuke slumps back in his chair, emotions heavy on his shoulders.

Akechi has never had time to spare. He wasted away his childhood, the days slipping through his fingers until his mother’s death. He spent his adolescence counting down to his revenge, waiting to die along the way. He’s spent these years with Yusuke watching him slip away, desperately trying to make the most of what little they had.

There was supposed to be more time.

“In a strange way, this illness is a blessing. I’ve had the opportunity to say goodbye, to leave these messages for you after I’m gone.” A solemn smile spreads on Yusuke’s lips. “That’s so much more than most.”

Yusuke has no right to take his death so gracefully when Akechi’s left broken in the aftermath.

“If you’ll allow me to make one last, selfish request…” Yusuke places both hands over his heart. “I ask that you not give up on the world.”

Yusuke places all his strength into these final words, all the emotion he has to give. He needs these words to breach the distance that separates them. They need to cross time and space, to the Akechi he knows he’ll leave behind.

“This world has been horribly unkind to you. I can’t imagine everything you’ve gone through.” Yusuke’s breath catches on his words. “But I _know_ you love me. I _know_ you were happy with me, for however brief a time we had together.”

He was _so_ happy. Yusuke brought him so much more happiness than he ever had any right to. Yusuke filled his life with color, from the sketches pinned to their walls, to the doodles Yusuke drew on him in his sleep, to the fireworks behind his eyes when Yusuke kissed his lips. Every day with him was beautiful. Every day was a gift that Akechi didn’t deserve.

“It may not feel like it now, but you have… people willing to care for you—who will let you take care of them, in turn.” Yusuke smiles at the camera, yearning and bittersweet. “You brought so much beauty to my life. You’ll bring it to others’, too. You’ll change other people’s lives like you changed mine. There will be other people who love you, just like I do.”

Yusuke is a damn _fool_ to think anyone could ever compare to him.

“You just have to let them in.”

That’s when Akechi finally breaks. An ugly, bitter sob escapes his mouth. Tears flow from his eyes, down his cheeks, into his mouth. Salt fills his mouth, the ocean pulling him down. Once it starts, he can’t stop it.

Akechi had meant to wait up for Yusuke. He laid on their bed, against the shared wall with Yusuke’s studio, waiting for Yusuke to come back. But at one point, he closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, sunlight streaked across their bedroom. Akechi groaned, sitting up from where he slumped against the headboard. A painful crick in his neck popped as he rolled his shoulders.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around. The bed looked just as he left it, the sheets undisturbed on Yusuke’s side. He must have slept on the couch then. Akechi sighed, pushing himself out of bed. If anyone should have taken the couch, it should have been Akechi. Yusuke had always been too long-limbed and gangly to sleep comfortably on it even when he was healthy. It would only serve to worsen whatever aches and pains he felt.

Akechi stepped into the living area, expecting to see Yusuke bundled tightly on the couch. Akechi often found him there when he came home from work. Yusuke was prone to fatigue and didn’t always have the energy to make it to their bedroom. Akechi kept warm blankets and fluffy pillows strewn over Yusuke’s favorite napping spots.

But just like the bed, the couch remained undisturbed. Akechi furrowed his brow. Yusuke wasn’t still working, was he? It had been _hours._ There was no way he could work that long without getting tired. Akechi put his hand on the studio door and hesitated. Would Yusuke even want to see him? Would he simply be reigniting their same argument?

It didn’t matter. Yusuke’s health was more important. Akechi pushed open the door.

The cloying scent of iron hit him first. Akechi’s vision swam before his eyes. His brain refused to acknowledge what he was seeing. Yusuke's body splayed out near his worktable, face down on the ground. A pool of red blood haloed him, seeping into his cotton shirt. It looked dry, hours old.

“Yusuke?” Akechi gasped, rushing to his side.

He knelt by Yusuke’s head, fingers instinctively finding the crux of Yusuke’s neck. He sat there with bated breath, perfectly still, searching for the thrum of Yusuke’s heart. But no matter how hard he pressed, there was nothing to be found.

Akechi’s hands turned to lumps of coal at his sides. He slumped back, staring at Yusuke’s lifeless body with vacant eyes. There was supposed to be more time. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Unbidden, Akechi’s mind began to fill in what happened. Yusuke got up from his chair and began walking to the door. He either lost his balance or began to seize. He grabbed his worktable in an attempt to stay upright. But his weakened arms couldn’t hold him up, and he fell, hitting his temple against the table on the way down.

He either lost consciousness immediately or lay dazed and disoriented as he bled out on the floor. It was completely mundane. It happened to people every day. But Yusuke had battled with _gods,_ he’d changed the world with nothing but his own determination. How could something so small take him away?

Akechi had been mere feet away. Had Yusuke called for help when he died? Had he been afraid? When consciousness slipped away, did he realize he was alone? Akechi had tried so hard to ensure exactly this wouldn’t happen. He’d rarely let Yusuke out of his sight, he’d stayed on top of Yusuke’s medications, he’d made sure Yusuke had his phone on him at all times.

Despite everything he’d done, Yusuke still died alone, afraid, just like his mother all those years ago.

Akechi pulled out his phone and called the first person he could think of.

“Ugh, don’t you know not to call before ten?” Akira’s voice rumbled on the other end of the line.

Akechi stared at Yusuke’s body, Akira’s words barely registering.

“Akechi-kun?” Akira grumbled. “If you butt dialed me this early I swear to god—”

“It’s Yusuke.” Akechi’s mouth moved but he couldn’t hear the words. “He—”

“What’s wrong?” Akira answered, immediately jumping into action.

“He—” Akechi tried again, but his throat closed around the words.

Akechi looked up, towards the painting in the center of the room. The last painting Yusuke had ever made. His phone clattered to the floor as he stood. He walked slowly, as if in a trance, until he was face to face with Yusuke’s work.

Distantly, he heard Akira’s frantic voice shouting through his phone. “Akechi-kun? Akechi-kun, what happened?”

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The rice fields still spread out before his eyes, the ocean sparkling in the distance beneath a golden sunset. The bottom right corner, previously empty, was almost complete. Two figures wade through the mud, barely bigger than a 500 yen coin on the large canvas. The figure on the left was completely finished while the one on the right, at the farthest edge was only half done. The left figure faced the viewer, long brown hair tousled in the wind. Akechi recognized the blue diamonds of his favorite sweater. The figure on the right was taller, facing away. Yusuke had just begun to paint in his own dark hair.

In the painting, Akechi was too far away to see his own expression. But if he had to guess, he’d be smiling.

Akechi never had much use for art, as much as Yusuke loved it. But this last painting was so vibrant, full of the hope Yusuke held onto. Akechi could feel the mud between his toes, hear laughter on the wind, and taste the salt in Yusuke’s kiss. It was peaceful and serene and everything their lives had never been.

This was the life Yusuke wanted for them, the future they should have had. The one that he still wanted Akechi to live.

Akira’s voice still chattered in the background. “Akechi-kun don’t move, I’m on my way!”

When Akira got there, he would start the long process of grieving. Someone would come to take away Yusuke’s body. Akechi would be expected to make some sort of funeral arrangements. He’d have to start sorting through Yusuke’s belongings. He’d have to stand in front of everyone who loved Yusuke and try to hold it together when all he wanted to do was _die._

He can’t keep living if he’ll always end up here. He can’t sit by and watch his life slip through his fingers. He can’t lose everything all over again. He can’t, he can’t, he _can’t._

He ran, and he didn’t look back.

Until Akira found him, and passed on a message from a dead man.

Yusuke smiles through his tears. “You opened your heart to me in spite of the sorrow you’ve faced. You brought me so much joy. I hope that I brought you happiness, too.”

 _Of course_ he did. How could Yusuke even question that?

“You can be happy again.”

Akechi doesn’t _want_ to be happy again if Yusuke isn’t there. What’s the point of being happy if Yusuke isn’t at his side? If it means losing what they shared, how can he possibly move on?

Yusuke reaches for the camera, holding it in his hand. More than anything, Akechi wishes he could reach through the screen and hold Yusuke one last time.

“Whatever remains of me is with you always,” Yusuke says, earnest. “I love you. You stole my heart long ago.”

Ironic, that Akechi would have Yusuke’s heart when Yusuke took his to the grave

“If there’s any sort of afterlife, I’ll see you again.”

Then the video ends.

Akechi holds Akira’s phone in still-shaking hands. Yusuke’s image is frozen on screen. He wants to play it back from the beginning, just to hear Yusuke’s voice again. But he can’t will his hands to move. He can’t do anything but lean against the bar and sob.

No so subtly, the bartender places a box of tissues in front of him. When he glances up, her eyes shine with tears as well. Akechi doesn’t say anything, simply grabs a fistful of tissues and wipes the salt and grime from his face.

He’s absolutely disgusting. The tears and snot only serve to wring out the last pent up emotions in his soul. He crushes the tissues against his mouth and _screams._ He screams, and sobs, and shakes until his throat bleeds and his eyes run out of tears. He can’t remember the last time he drank anything but booze.

“Would it be too much trouble to ask for some food? And some water?” Akira sniffles at Akechi’s side.

“Comin’ right up,” the bartender says, pouring out two tall glasses of water.

When she disappears into the kitchen, Akechi drops the tissues on the bar. He turns to look at Akira from beneath a curtain of his greasy hair. Akira’s own face is red and blotchy, tear tracks gleaming in the light. Akira offers him a weak smile.

Akechi scowls, the grimace pulling at his weathered skin.“This isn’t fair,” he croaks, throat scratched raw.

“Yeah,” Akira sighs, “it fucking sucks.”

Akechi can’t help but laugh, and when he does it brings on a fresh wave of tears. His eyes sting and the salt burns his throat raw. But the tears keep coming despite the pain. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away, when he’ll just dig up more to shed.

Akira holds out his arms in a wordless invitation. Akechi glares at him out of the corner of his eye. Normally, Akechi would tell him to fuck off. But more than anything, Akechi just wants to hold Yusuke again. Slowly, he leans into Akira’s shoulder. Akira’s arms wrap around him, squeezing tight.

“I threw away so many second chances.” The wool of Akira’s jacket muffles Akechi’s voice. “It should’ve been me.”

Akira sighs, hands knitted over Akechi’s arm. He holds him tight and doesn’t let go.

“There’s never going to be anyone like him,” Akechi murmurs.

Akira feels the wetness on his shoulder where Akechi stains his jacket with tears. “That’s for sure,” he laughs bitterly. “There’s only one Yusuke.”

“How am I supposed to keep going?”

Akira turns his head into Akechi’s hair, lips moving against his crown. “I don’t know,” he admits softly. “But you don’t have to be okay. You just have to come home.”

Akechi closes his eyes, still burning from his tears. He leans into Akira’s embrace and just lets himself be held for the first time since Yusuke passed. It’s not the same, not even close. But it’s better than being alone.

**Author's Note:**

> triggers: past character death, funeral scene, depiction of a seizure, discussion of terminal illnesses and chronic pain, brief suicidal thoughts non-graphic description of a dead body including some blood
> 
> in hanakotoba rice lilies symbolize both love and curse
> 
> you can come talk to me on [tumblr](https://aceklaviergavin.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/aceklaviergavin)


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